


The Grind

by sarken



Category: Fake News RPF, Real News RPF
Genre: Barista AU, Blue Collar Challenge, FNFF OT, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-30
Updated: 2009-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken/pseuds/sarken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from a Barista AU. In scene one, a lull during Stephen's first day on the job with fellow baristas Anderson Cooper and Jon Stewart. In scene two, Stephen learns to make whipped cream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Leaning against the register counter, Stephen raked his fingers through his hair as he observed the fallout from the mid-morning coffee rush.

A trail of spilled soymilk ran the length of the bar; coffee beans littered the floor. The whipped cream dispenser sat by the sink, runny whipped cream oozing from its tip. Next to that, three improperly made drinks cooled slowly as they waited to be poured down the drain.

Stephen let out a low whistle. Maybe, maybe they would get this mess cleaned up by lunchtime. He glanced at his coworkers, neither of whom seemed to be wearing the same shell-shocked expression Stephen could feel frozen on his features.

"Is it always this bad?" he asked Jon, who had been manning the lids and the whipped cream, putting the finishing touches on the drinks before handing them off to customers. Now he was doing something -- Stephen couldn't see what -- over by the sink.

"Are you kidding?" The guy who had been working the register answered instead, and Stephen had to glance at his nametag for reference. Anderson. Stephen tried to commit the name to memory. Anderson, Anderson, Anderson.

"This was a slow day," Anderson said. "I don't think we did more than a hundred."

"Lattes?" Stephen asked, his eyes going wide behind his glasses.

Anderson giggled, making Stephen think of a bird with a deeper voice. "Dollars," Anderson corrected. "That's something like twenty, thirty drinks, depending on the number of drips versus lattes. A normal day is forty-five or so."

"Andy's got this down to a science," Jon said, hopping up on the counter. He narrowly missed sitting in the spilled milk.

"Keith's going to have your ass if he sees it up there," Anderson said, crossing his arms.

Jon shrugged as he popped the lid off one of the mistakes. He sniffed the cup's contents and then cautiously stuck his tongue in for a taste. "Keith pays too much attention to my ass," he said, grimacing as the taste of the drink registered. "What the hell did you do to this, Steve-o?"

"Stephen," Stephen corrected firmly. "I, um, I think I put strawberry in it instead of vanilla."

"And it was supposed to be..." Jon spun the cup, looking at the letters scribbled on its side. "Oh, a caramel macchiato. Yeah, that's not going on the menu board anytime soon."

Stephen watched as Jon upended the cup, dumping the contents into the sink. The grayish liquid splashed everywhere.

"Like you were perfect on your first day," Anderson said, rolling his eyes. He picked up a dishcloth and began wiping down the espresso machine, starting with the steam wand.

"I never said I was better." Jon picked up another one of the mistakes, this time dumping it without comment. "I was definitely worse. I couldn't even say 'macchiato,' forget about making one. Hell, I think I'm the only barista to ever mispronounce 'latte.'"

"You still say it funny," Anderson commented, taking his dishcloth and moving over to the counter. "Two very distinct syllables, heavy emphasis on the second. La. Tay. The tay."

Anderson began wiping down the counter, reaching behind Jon to get to the worst of the soymilk mess.

"Speaking of asses," Jon said, eyes widening as he quickly jumped down from his perch. "Sexual harassment, Cooper."

"Yeah, but you like it." Anderson smirked and Stephen felt himself starting to relax.

"You, sir, make an excellent point," Jon conceded. He clasped his hands in front of him and leaned toward Anderson, batting his eyelashes. "You're the only play I get, Sweet 'n Low."

Anderson swatted at Jon with the dishcloth. "'Sweet 'n Low?' What the hell kind of a nickname is that?"

"A low-calorie one," Stephen offered, kicking a coffee bean across the floor. He pushed a few more with the toe of his shoe, trying to gather them into a pile without the aid of a broom. "Also, a decidedly pink one."

Jon threw a protective arm around Anderson's shoulders and drew himself up from his perpetual slouch. "Are you calling my boyfriend a girl?" he demanded.

Stephen suddenly felt much less relaxed. "I -- your...what?"

Anderson ducked away from Jon. "Oh, please," he said, rolling his eyes. "Believe me, Stephen, Jon is not my type."

"Yeah, Andy here likes a guy who can sweep him off his feet," Jon said, dropping back into his normal posture.

"'Andy here' also likes a guy who can get his name right," Anderson said, turning the faucet on and starting to scrub the sink. He worked silently for several seconds before dropping the dishcloth and turning around. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "I think Stephen might be my type."

"I don't know," Jon said, frowning. He pressed two fingers to his mouth, and Stephen could see the wheels turning as Jon considered the idea. "You speak Spanish, Stephen?"

Before Stephen could answer, Anderson cut in. "Oh, that's real nice, Jon."

Jon chuckled, but even without knowing him, Stephen could hear the nervousness in it. Jon was clearly trying to pretend he hadn't crossed a line. "What? I'm just saying, I really don't think Stephen's your usual type."

"What's my type, Jon?" Leaning against the counter, Anderson folded his arms and crossed his right ankle over his left. For the first time, Stephen noticed the size of Anderson's biceps.

Jon suddenly took great interest in the coffee bean by his shoe. With his toe, he nudged it toward Stephen's pile. "I just -- he's kinda WASP-y," Jon mumbled, taking a few steps as he toed the bean closer to the pile.

The bell on the door jingled as a customer entered.

"Uh, guys?" Stephen broke in, glancing over his shoulder at the register counter. "First of all, Catholic, not Protestant. Secondly...not gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that, and not that I'm not flattered, Anderson, but, you know. Not gay."

Jon looked up and, noticing the customer, took a few steps toward the cash register. "Oh, we'll have to work on that," Jon said, giving Stephen a swat on the ass as he walked by.

:end:


	2. Chapter 2

As he stared unseeingly at the brewing coffee, Stephen wondered why in the hell he had taken a job that required his presence at 5:30 on a Saturday morning. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, and willed the coffee to brew faster. He figured one cup for every missed hour of sleep would be enough to make him functional.

Jon walked out of the back room, carrying two cartons of heavy cream. "Hey, new kid, you know how to make whipped cream?"

Stephen turned slowly and blinked dumbly at Jon. "Whipped cream?"

"Uh huh," Jon mumbled, setting the cartons aside and walking over to the brewing unit. "Let me introduce you to Mr. Hold Button," he said, grabbing a twenty-ounce cup from the stacks. He pressed a button whose label had worn off, and the stream of coffee stopped long enough for Jon swap out the coffeepot and replace it with the cup.

"It gets a lot of use," he explained, lightly tapping where the label had once been.

"Thanks," Stephen said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You always work Saturday mornings?"

"Usually, yeah." Jon snatched another large cup from the stack and poured himself some coffee from the half-full pot. When Stephen gave him a sideways look, he said, "What? Same thing as you're doing. Besides, gotta taste test it before the customers show up. Could be soap or some shit left in the pot."

"I didn't say a word," Stephen said, pressing the hold button and taking his cup. Not thinking, he immediately took a sip of the fresh coffee -- and promptly spit it back into his cup when it scalded his mouth.

"Might want to be careful there, Steve-o," Jon said, bringing his own cup to his mouth and blowing lightly on it.

Stephen couldn't help noticing that Jon looked more than slightly amused, but the doorbell jingled, distracting Stephen before he could say anything about it.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Jon said, mostly to himself. Then, louder, he said, "Little late there, Andy."

Anderson didn't speak a word to either of them. He headed straight for the refrigerator and grabbed an energy drink, popping its tab and downing it in a few quick gulps.

"There's a man in need of coffee," Stephen said, watching Anderson angrily press buttons on the register as he clocked in and paid for his drink.

"I don't drink coffee," Anderson said shortly, slamming the change drawer shut.

Stephen blinked. "But you work in a --"

"I know," Anderson cut Stephen off. He then looked to Jon, seeming to dismiss Stephen completely. "What should I be doing?"

Rather than answer him, Jon cocked his head slightly and studied Anderson. "Jesus, Cooper, have you slept yet?"

"No. Now, what should I be doing?"

"You want to show new kid how to make the whipped cream? I'm going to make a second pot of coffee, since we've pretty much killed this one."

"Yeah, okay," Anderson said, and he grabbed a carton of heavy cream and one of the empty whipped cream dispensers. He carried them over to the syrup pumps and crooked his finger in Stephen's direction, signaling him to follow.

"All right," Anderson said, "it's pretty easy. Just cover the bottom with vanilla, pour in the cream, screw the top on, and shake it. Go ahead."

Stephen, who still hadn't successfully swallowed any of his coffee, managed to get to the shaking part before things went wrong. The metal quickly grew cold and slick with condensation, and in mid-shake, he felt his grip on the dispenser start to slip. He caught the dispenser before it could take flight, but his hand came down on the handle. The dispenser hissed like an angry cat and whipped cream shot out of the nozzle, spraying all over Stephen's face.

He stood dumbfounded, listening to long seconds of total silence tick past before Jon and Anderson both burst out laughing. After a moment, Stephen felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward into a smile. Chuckling, he took off his glasses and wiped them clean.

Before he could settle his glasses back on his face, Stephen felt a finger swipe against his cheek and scrape off some whipped cream.

"Not bad for a first try," Jon said, humming his approval. He went in for a second swipe, but this time he held his finger out to Anderson. "Interested?"

"Sure." Anderson leaned down and took Jon's finger into his mouth, all the way down to the first knuckle. Stephen had to look away when he saw how Anderson carefully maintained eye contact with Jon -- and he looked away just in time to see Keith come through the door.

Stephen's heart leapt into his throat when Keith zeroed in on him. He couldn't believe it. He'd had this job for three days and he was already going to get canned. He wasn't even the one fellating his coworker's whipped cream-covered index finger, but he was definitely the one who was going to get fired. He had stopped working with Paul and Amy for this very reason, but it seemed he was destined to be the scapegoat in awkward situations he had absolutely nothing to do with. Meanwhile, he was pretty sure that Anderson was still trying to deep throat Jon's finger.

Keith walked up to Stephen and stood much too close as he regarded Stephen, making him squirm. Then, after some of the longest moments Stephen had ever endured, Keith wiped a streak of whipped cream off Stephen's face, stuck his finger in his mouth, and said, "A little too much aftershave. Work on that, Colbert."

With that, Keith headed for the back room.

Stephen leaned against the counter, trying not to look like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His head was spinning. "What the hell just happened?" he managed. "I mean, how do I still work here?"

Jon pulled his finger out of Anderson's mouth. "Keith has low expectations," he said, wiping his finger on his pants. "As long as you don't spit in the coffee or steal from the register, you're good. Besides, you weren't the one doing obscene things to my finger."

"That was in no way obscene," Anderson protested. "I was merely orally expressing my affection for whipped cream and Jon. There is nothing obscene about an act of love."

"There is when it's on company time," Keith said, tying his apron as he reemerged from the back room. "Now, have you three goldbricks managed to accomplish anything aside from giving each other early morning boners?"

Stephen shifted uncomfortably, willing himself not to look at Jon or Anderson to check the veracity of Keith's accusation.

"We multitasked," Jon said, knocking over the paper towel roll as he hopped up on the counter. He swung his feet, banging his heels against the cabinets like a little kid. "Everything's ready."

"Yet one of my employees still has whipped cream on his face," Keith said, looking at Stephen. "Help him take care of that, Jon. And wash your hands while you're at it. You know how I feel about spit."

Jon made a face, but he tore a paper towel off the roll and leaned across the counter to run it under the faucet. He handed it to Stephen.

"Is there a mirror?" he asked.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jon said, and he snatched the towel back. "C'mere."

Stephen felt absolutely ridiculous as he stepped between Jon's legs and closed his eyes. He felt even more ridiculous when he realized he had forgotten to take off his glasses, but before he could correct the problem, Jon had already pushed them onto the top of Stephen's head.

Jon's fingers curled around Stephen's chin, applying pressure and encouraging him to tilt his head as Jon wiped the whipped cream off his face. "Shit's greasy," Jon mumbled, and it was obvious he had leaned in to see better, because Stephen felt Jon's breath on his cheek.

"Speaking of obscene," Anderson muttered, and Jon and Stephen visibly jumped as they realized they were being watched.

"Yeah, but you like it," Jon said, trying to be nonchalant. He balled up the paper towel and shot it at the garbage can. It went in without touching the rim. "From way downtown...bang!"

:end:


End file.
